


Struck By the Goodman

by reynkout



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Awkward Flirting, Coffee Shops, Dialogue, Flirting, Gift Fic, Law School, M/M, Socially Awkward Jean, Starbucks, cheery marco, grumpy jean, jeanmarco, music student marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reynkout/pseuds/reynkout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a pre-law student who struggles in college at Sinatti University. After bombing his finals and a lack of sleep for how many weeks, he decides to hit up the closest Starbucks available for a pumpkin spice latte, which this particular Starbucks still has on the menu despite the month being December. After such a disastrous day as this, what else could possibly go wrong? But what Jean doesn't know is, there is someone Fate would really love for him to meet. Someone with delectable, cinnamon freckles all along his cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck By the Goodman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CasualObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasualObsessions/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, sweets! <3
> 
> This is a gift fic for CasualObsessions; surprise! I'm your Secret Santa! X') Did you expect that, or at least get the hint of it? I hope you enjoy this fanfiction, though it is pretty short compared to what I normally write. Hopefully the length will not take away from the quality and story of the fic, however.  
> I tried to capture how it would be for a pre-law student like Jean who doesn't seem happy most of the time at a coffee shop, especially one where people make mistakes (my Starbucks really screws up my lattes when I ask for soy instead of cream). Marco is just a wonderful ball of sunshine, isn't he?
> 
> Anyway, hmu when you wanna! Enjoy this fic; let's become JeanMarco fam!

Not again.

 _Not_ again, Jean sighs aloud. He peers at the paper given back to him in the class he was dismissed from not five minutes ago.

“F,” he groans, not sure if he’s stating what he scored on his exam or if he’s actually just semi-swearing.

It’s disheartening to see how terrible he did on his past few tests, and now this one has him devastated. How in the world is he ever going to achieve his goal and become one of the best, well-known lawyers in the whole of Sinatti if Jean keeps scoring bomb-diggity low. It’s depressing. It makes him feel as if he’s got a ten ton weight on his chest.

He touches the puffy bags from under his eyes, surprised at how leathery soft his skin is there. Lack of sleep; man, how he needed some more z’s… Or something. And, knowing Jean, he would choose “something” over sleep any day. Jean is, in his own way, determined to find out out what he did wrong on that test and correct it, no matter how tired he is. Besides, finals are coming soon… He wants to get the information right before he retakes the class.

He needs coffee.

The man needs his caffeine.

With a source of newfound energy, Jean rears himself up and off campus, walking his failure of an ass to a Starbucks hidden away in a local bookstore.

It’s nice, the store. It’s not as huge as the one downtown, but the size is just right for Jean’s taste. He seats himself in the corner of the room, close to the fireplace, after he orders a pumpkin spice latte. It catches Jean off guard to know that this Starbucks is one of the few that still has their autumnal drink option on the menu; the others Jean’s hit up already have their peppermint lattes ready to serve, much to his dismay. He loves that pumpkin-y goodness.

“Pumpkin Spice for John,” calls the barista at the counter, and Jean cringes a little at the way his name is slaughtered. He leaves his unopened bag on the floor next to the table leg, and gets up to retrieve his drink. “For John?” repeats the Starbucks employee.

Jean nods, a little stiff in his neck. “T-that’s me,” he says with a little waver in his voice.

“Here you go,” the barista says, sliding the hot cup towards the law student. “Enjoy.”

“Right,” Jean sighs, “Thanks.”

Grabbing the drink, he takes an experimental sip, almost gagging when his tastebuds immediately identify a drink that is _most certainly_ not a pumpkin spice latte.

“Um,” he stalks back to the bar, slamming his red cup on the counter again.

Oh, goody, the same employee is there to help him. “Hi,” he smiles, and it seems so fake. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Jean keeps his replies short and clipped. “I don’t think this is what I ordered.” He huffs, his annoyance level going from ten to ten thousand in an instant. He doesn’t like that face of the barista’s. “The last time I checked, I don’t think a pumpkin spice latte tasted anything like _vanilla_.”

The barista looks at him skeptically then, without saying anything, he takes the latte from Jean, popping open the cap. If sniffing the drink isn’t already weird, the Starbucks employee dares to take a sip of it.

Jean’s mouth is gaping as he watches all of this happen. He can’t believe this _guy_ just did that. That this employee at Starbucks just took back his drink. That this person just drank from his cup because they couldn’t believe his word.

 _What type of person thinks they have a right to do that?_ Jean sneers in his mind. He pulls a scowl on his face, grappling the cup from the barista’s hand and chucks it into the trashcan near him.

“Could you, like, remake it.. or something?” Jean’s doing his best to contain his anger, and he doesn’t know whether it’s helping or hurting the situation at hand.

“But I didn’t find anything wrong with it.” counters the employee.

Jean rolls his eyes, knowing that if he starts arguing, he’s fighting a losing battle. That much his law classes have taught him. “Fine. Thanks.” he says, and struts back to his table, upset. He plugs in his phone charger and cell, slamming down a book he has to read about “the law” and all that shit.

How could something so simple like remaking a drink be too much trouble for a Starbucks barista? They remake orders literally _all the time_. Jean’s not sure whether to laugh or cry at the events that have happened to him today. He thinks this is absurd, failing his exams and then getting treated like someone insignificant (which he probably is in that employee’s eyes); what else could possibly go wrong?

“...sit here?”

_Oh, great._

Jean snaps his head up from his book, only to be blinded by the many freckles on creamy skin of a man standing not even three feet away from him. He’s holding two red holiday cups of coffee, one marked with the letters “PSL” on the side. Jean licks his lips unconsciously, craving for a good pumpkin latte, before he realizes that there’s someone in front of him, waiting for a verbal answer.

“U-uh, yeah,” he mutters, half-guessing that the guy just wants to sit down at the table, too. The seats in the shop are pretty much empty at this time of day though; why would this person want to share a table with Jean of all things?

The freckle-adorned man smiles, showing his gleaming pearly whites. “Thanks,” he says, and takes the chair across from Jean. He slides the pumpkin spice latte cup towards Jean then, “This is for you… I, um, heard what was going on with you and Samuel.” Jean quirks a brow as if to ask him if the latte really tasted like his favorite autumnal drink, or if Samuel spit in the cup before he made it… or something. “Don’t worry, I watched him make it. It’s actually a PSL.”

His statement gets a big eyebrow raise from Jean, who takes the cup gratefully. He takes a swig, sighing in contentment when the drink really does taste how it’s supposed to. He nods, “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nothing,” The man’s smile widens, and Jean can’t help but notice that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “Sam’s a doof sometimes,”

“More than a ‘doof’,” Jean huffs, then instantly regrets what he just said. This guy must know Samuel, the barista. He’s totally bad mouthing Samuel in front of Sam’s friend. “Oh, I mean… err, sorry.” He hopes he’s not blushing, but he’s more than a little embarrassed.

“Nah, it’s fine.” comes the reply.

They’re silent for some time, the man fiddling with his cup while Jean tries to study… sort of. He keeps stealing glances at the guy, taking in the way those freckles stand out on that flawless skin. He wonders if there are more; if there are more cinnamon flecks sprinkled across his chest, over those broad shoulders, down his back… Jean shakes himself off that topic. If he wasn’t red before from his previous comment, he certainly is now- all thanks to his wandering mind.

This man is something else, like no one Jean has ever seen before. He parts his dark hair neatly, making him look younger than he probably is. He could pass as a college freshman, if he really tried. His big, brown eyes are like a doe’s, so clear and friendly-looking, though Jean doubts they are truly innocent. Then again, Jean doesn’t know him, so he has no clue.

Shit. Jean’s been caught staring. He gulps when the guy catches his gaze, who is suddenly speaking up.

“I’m Marco, by the way.” A hand extends for Jean to take it.

Jean reciprocates; Marco and he shake hands. “Jean Kirstein. Nice to meet you, Marco.”

“Likewise,” Marco gleams, and he sounds a little too proper to be so cheerful. His eyes flicker down at the law book Jean’s studying. “Are you a student here?”

Jean hums, “Mm’yeah. At Sinatti-U, and all that jazz,” he admits, shrugging. “You?”

Marco leans back in his seat, crossing his fingers over one another on the tabletop. So proper. “Something like that. I’m in the music block, though. You know how we have different colleges within the campus site? I’m in the Jinae College.” He laughs at himself.

Music, huh? Now Jean’s never heard of that one before. He rarely ever goes near Jinae anyhow, which is probably why hearing that Marco is a music major is something new to his ears.

“Oh,” Jean murmurs pathetically, and he would facepalm himself so hard, if only Marco wasn’t right in front of him. “That’s… cool,”

Marco’s smile just graces his lips now. “Yeahh, well, it’s more work than fun, really. But that’s like everything in life, right?” He points at Jean’s book. “That definitely doesn’t look like a whole lot of fun.”

Jean chuckles, face finally showing some emotion rather than stoicness from the shit that’s happened to him today. He exhales slowly. “No, not really.” He presses his lips together. “But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, you know?”

“So you’re studying law?”

“Mhmm,”

Marco scoots his chair in a bit more, chocolate brown eyes on Jean. “And why, can I ask?”

The guy is so close to him, so near that Jean can count the freckles on Marco’s face if he wanted to. His thick eyelashes flutter when he blinks; Jean is enchanted by them, as they’re so long they sweep across his high cheekbones. His skin is such a wonderfully mocha color, suave like cream.

“I,” Jean rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Have a thing for talking. And justice, and stuff.” Wow, he is so _smooth_ with his wording today. “I dunno. I just thought this world could use a little straightening out.” And now he sounds like a know-it-all douche. Fantastic.

“Really? That’s really nice,” Marco’s statement shocks him so much that Jean catches himself from falling out of his seat. “You’re really cool.”

Jean is really speechless now. Marco just complimented him big-time. His eyes widen before containing himself once more. “Thanks, man. Uh. I mean, Marco.”

Marco makes a happy cooing sound that sends Jean’s nerves sparking, and something in his stomach tickles. It's like he's woken up the nervous butterflies in him, all because of Marco.

Does he… does he like Marco? He keeps thinking it while they talk about class and professors, about dorm life and the crazy shit they have to deal with from their dorm-mates, what they like and dislike… Jean really seems to be clicking with Marco, and vice versa.

“Ah, here,” Marco pipes up suddenly, face lit with giddiness. He pulls out a sheet of paper from his bag, passing it to Jean. “I also do some party coordinating.”

“You mean you host frat parties,” Jean peers at the address printed on the flyer. _2600 Isla Maria_.

Marco’s cheeks redden. “I wouldn’t call it that.” he says. “It’s gonna be really good this New Year’s. You should come.”

“It states ‘Invite Only’.” Jean sounds like he’s deadpanning when, really, he’s ecstatic inside.

Marco stares straight into Jean’s eyes. “I know. I’m _inviting_ you to come, Jean.” Dear Lord, the way Jean’s name rolls off Marco’s tongue like that. Jean fights the urge to close his eyes and hum in happiness. “Unless, you know, you don’t want to come,”

Aw, the guilt trip. Jean shakes his head. “No, I would love to go. I just don’t know anyone there,”

Marco laughs. “Me neither, to a degree. But that’s what makes it fun, right?”

“Totally,” agrees Jean. As long as he gets to see Marco again, he figures he’ll be okay with it. He’s about to open his mouth again to talk when someone’s phone alarm goes off.

Marco jumps a little in his seat, scrambling to pull the source of the music from his back pocket. He grimaces, looking at the time on his phone screen before dismissing the alarm. Looks like time is up with Marco, and Jean is beginning to feel a little disheartened. What if he doesn’t go to the party? Will he ever see Marco after this meeting?

“I have to go,” sighs Marco. His shoulders sag, looking just like how Jean felt. He doesn’t want to go, his body language makes it clear. Jean feels guilty for suddenly perking up when he notices that Marco liked talking to him, too.

Jean gets out, “Oh,”

“Yeah, darn,” Marco proclaims, “It was nice meeting you though, Jean. Sorry about that one pumpkin spice latte. I hope mine made it up to you.”

“More than,” The corner of Jean’s lip twitches into a smile, and Marco returns it.

“Perfect, I’m so glad.” He packs up his stuff, finally standing from his chair… “Well, see you around, Je--,”

“Wait,” Jean’s mouth runs before he even knows what he fully wants to say. “C-can we, uh, um… Could we hang out again? I mean, if you have time, or whatever. Before the frat, err, the party.”

Marco seems to shine at that. He nods his head joyfully, so much so that his bangs begin to whip back and forth.

“Yes,” he exclaims, which has Jean almost falling over in his seat. “Yeah, I would really like that, Jean.”

What? Did Marco just wink at him? Did he really just pair a wink with his already gorgeous smile? Did Marco already say yes, that he would like to see Jean again after this… and before the frat party? Did that mean Marco wanted to talk to Jean again, like, _soon_? Jean’s mouth wasn’t working properly.

He scrambled for his phone, quickly tapping on the screen to add a new contact. He handed it over to the brunette.

“M-maybe we could p-p-plan something,” Oh, poor Jean and his stuttering.

Marco takes the phone and adds in his number, then lays it down on the table in front of Jean. Then, he does what Jean did earlier, silently asking for Jean’s cell phone number as well.

_104.49.07.1624.01_

“Perfect,” Marco says, taking back his phone after hitting ‘save contact’. He waves. “See you around, Jean.”

Jean waves back shyly. “See ya,”

As he watches the freckled music student leave, he watches the way Marco’s hips sway ever so lightly. His steps are so sure, his posture so sturdy. Everything about him, Jean likes.

And this time he doesn’t deny it.

_Bzzz! Bzz!_

A text message from Marco. Jean stares down at his Samsung Galaxy for a while before swiping his fingerpad over the home button to unlock it.

**From: Marco :-)**

**_Nice talking to you.  
Can’t wait to see you again soon, Jean. - M_ **

Jean is left studying in the Starbucks coffee shop with a goofy grin on his face the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to you!


End file.
